


Remember Me, an Insert

by Tra



Category: League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)
Genre: Gen, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:37:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tra/pseuds/Tra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney learns that Timothy died in the war.</p><p>A homage to  JordannaMorgan’s Remember Me on here. I hope she doesn’t get mad at me for using her backstory. I’ll take it down if you are!!!!!! But I felt this was a missing scene, and I couldn’t miss Skinner freaking out or the team having a support-skinner-while-he’s-hurt moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me, an Insert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JordannaMorgan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordannaMorgan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Remember Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/49215) by [JordannaMorgan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordannaMorgan/pseuds/JordannaMorgan). 



> Again, the original story is NOT MINE!!! Though i kinda wish it were. Let me know if the end is too abrupt?

Everyone was gathering around the main conference table on the Nautilus. They all looked weary, but proud. Although their time seemed to have ended as the League as the world grew to depend more and more on modern technology- bombs and guns and cars of common production- they seemed to depend less on those who could stop people using advanced weaponry from overtaking them, as they had in the Leagues earlier days. Nevertheless, the League was still fully employed and continued to help in any way they could.

When they had all gathered, Nemo pulled out his brightest smile and declared that the Great War was over. They had won. It was the best news they’d had in years.

Not two weeks later, Skinner heard the news.

He hadn’t had time to stop by his old friend Timothy’s house in over half a year. He was always busy running missions for the League- he was their best spy after all-and even if he had, Timothy wouldn’t be home because he was deployed somewhere. It was just his luck that he arrived right as the mailman gave his wife the news, and Skinner still couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

At first she opened it with gusto. She knew it had come from her husband’s last base and thought it from him. For a time her smile froze. She kept reading. Then, paling significantly, she read it again. And again. Then she slid to the ground and proceeded to weep. She let the letter fall from her hands as she covered her face. Skinner walked over and stepped on it so it wouldn’t blow away. He needed to read it, too.

It read:

Dear Mrs. Timothy---- (here it was smudged, but he knew Timothy’s last name, so it didn’t matter.)

We regret to inform you that your husband has passed away from injuries due to a sword. It took quite some time to die, but he bore it well, and requested that, should he not live, that you were to receive a letter detailing his death. He also requested this letter state that he was grievously sorry for not being able to return home to you or his child, and that he hopes you find someone to look after you.

His final check is enclosed.

Dreadfully sorry, Commander Brigham Scottington, 154th Division

Skinner felt his body grow limp. So he would never be able to tell Timothy how proud of him he was. He walked back to the ship in complete silence. Opening the door to Dorian Gray’s old mansion, he slipped inside.

“Skinner?” Mina asked him. He just walked right on past them. “You were gone an awful long time. We thought that perhaps something had happened,” she continued.

He reached the kitchen and just kept going. Up the back stairs, five doors down until he reached his own. He shut the door and stood in the middle of his room. He noticed he was trembling and briefly wondered when that had started. He could hear everyone outside his door. For a second he thought they would just turn around, but that was disproved as Nemo knocked and asked if he was alright.

 _I’ll never be all right_ , he thought, before hurling the nearest object at the wall. A book, a coat, a hat, a jar of ink. His chair, bedcovers, pillows, wall decorations and portraits, shoes- everything flew through the air around him until there was nothing left to throw. He took his fist to the wall. Over and over, the pain nothing compared to what was inside. He didn’t even try to fight when he felt steady hands grab him around his middle and pull him back into the middle of his room.

They sat him down on his floor and called the doctor over. They kept muttering what must have been encouragements, but he didn’t try to decipher them. Couldn’t, really. They bandaged his hand by feel. His blood was only invisible on the inside of his body, after all. Every time a finger of the doctor’s would place on a part of his busted limb he winced, but paid no mind to the ‘sorrys’ he knew the man was making. Finally, they had him all bandaged up. And, finally, they wanted to know what had happened.

All he said was, “Timothy’s dead. And I should have been there.”

And they understood.


End file.
